Chance Encounter
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: Rose and Scorpius: two thirty year old journalists who have never married, bump into one another at a press conference. It's the first time they've seen each other in 12 years. Just what happens? R


_For Alice (watching stiricide) & Aimy (lonely hands) because you're awesome people._

_Especially Albo._

_I don't own anything._

_(oh and it's also a response to a dare on the PROMPTS, PROMPTS, PROMPTS, forum, given by Alice.)_

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"Miss Weasley," the woman at the desk says to me, "Here is your pass to get through the doors just over the way there, and then you just need to follow the signs to the press conference. Have a nice day," and, with this, she hands me the pass she mentioned. Something in her eyes gets to me – though I'm probably just being paranoid – and it's since she said my name.

As if it's _wrong_ for me to be Miss Rose Weasley, thirty years old, and not even _Ms_ because I haven't bothered with marriage.

"Thank you very much," I reply, plastering as large a fake smile on my face as I can. All the while, I'm chanting to myself in my head, _do __not__ curse her, Rose, she's just a Muggle_, trying desperately to prevent myself making a _huge_ mistake in a Muggle office block.

_This day will be so boring_, I think as I walk through the doors the receptionist mentioned. All I want to do is Apparate – but I don't think that that would make the _best_ impression at a press conference that's for Muggles. Something tells me that the security guard in charge of watching the security cameras would be more than a little shocked to see a girl disappear in the middle of a corridor and then reappear upstairs.

So, just _why_ am I, Rose Weasley, witch extraordinaire, at a Muggle press conference – the subject of which, by the way, is whether or not this footballer who I have _never_ heard of before will be moving clubs or not – is down to my bloody boss. Basically, he thinks that "we're not journalist-y enough" which makes no sense to me since the Daily Prophet has been around for a few centuries now.

But, basically, he's sent me here, into the wilderness that is actually Muggle London, to observe how pushy these people are and to apparently "remind me that there are hundreds of people who want my job" though I completely contest that final point. Oh, and there's apparently another wizard here, one who I am familiar with, though from many years ago, and he's in competition for my job. Phil, my boss, said that he was in France for a few years, working at the national wizarding paper there, and I have to "learn a few things from him" about how to be a _proper_ journalist.

It's not like there's a bloody _point_ in this, is there? I mean, come _on_; I've been a journalist for twelve years now, since I left Hogwarts, and I've gotten pretty good at it, if I want to blow my own trumpet. Even won some global awards for my pieces in the paper, though apparently this isn't good enough journalism for Phil; I need to be pushier and brasher and write about things I don't give a toss about.

Or, as he so nicely put it, he'll find someone who _wants_ to do this and demote me back down to merely an editor rather than a senior editor…or, God forbid, perhaps even just a regular journalist.

Anyway, I push all these negative thoughts out of my head – easier said than done though – and concentrate on the positives, alright, _positive_, of this trip. I get paid to have a jolly to Muggle London for three days, to basically learn how to behave like my cousins do – and I don't have to do any work whatsoever! This should be the easiest three days of my life, since I don't have to do anything other than find this wizard.

From what I've known about football – my Dad's friend, Dean, is obsessed with football so he taught me about it a bit – I've never heard of a press conference going on for three days about it. But apparently, this player wants all negotiations to occur in front of the press; this is, naturally, something I couldn't care less about, but it's what's made me be here so…

Before I enter the room, I take a deep breath and smooth down the front of the black business style dress and make sure that my copper red hair is coiffed to perfection, yet doesn't make me look old. I know I'm only thirty, but since every other cousin I have was married by the time they were twenty three, Lily even at eighteen, I'm the only singleton left. It's slightly worrying now, since it seems that most of the people in my year have already gotten married and have kids, so who can _I_ marry…but, then again, do I care what other people think?

I've lost count of how many dates I've been set up on by my family, just to discover that it's an old family friend who is now divorced – and with the size of our family, we can get away with that. But this isn't an issue now: now, I need to bloody well find this wizard and then know that I've basically got nothing to do for the rest of my time here, other than eat delicious biscuits and drink sugary tea.

The door is heavier than I expected as I push it open and I almost find myself casting a spell to hold it open as I walk through with my laptop and other "journalist" equipment; whilst I've never used a laptop for work before, I know how to use one, and Phil felt it would help me "play my part" better than just making notes on a notepad. It's not the most ladylike appearance, trying to stop yourself being either pushed back out of the room or being squished by the door, when you're so much lighter than the door.

"Let me help you with that." A blond haired man stands up suddenly from his seat nearest to the door and dashes across to hold the door for me. And wow…I barely stop myself from raising my eyebrows as I look over his fine physique, can hardly prevent the low whistle ready in my throat as I notice just _how_ muscular this man is. And then the _suit_! It's perfectly tailored for him, something that I notice in men – being able to dress well – and it looks _expensive_. But, more than that, it looks almost familiar, as though I've seen its style before.

Then, my eyes move to look at his face.

And I freeze.

His face is too similar. It's the exact same as it was when he was eighteen, when I was swearing that I would _never_ see him again because he was moving to America forever – _"Good riddance to bad rubbish_," I remember sneering as I got rid of my greatest rival of all time.

_Why_ did it have to be Scorpius Malfoy?

He's looking at me in just the same amount of disbelief as I presume I'm looking at him with, his hand stuck on the door and holding it open for the sea of people now flooding into the press room after me.

"Rose." He says my name slowly, not inflicting any emotion into it, his head moving slowly up and down in a nodding motion.

It could have been _anyone_ but Scorpius Malfoy, someone who will probably tell me that he's married to some American supermodel who is a billionaire and he only works for fun. Oh and there'll be kids. There's _always_ kids when the boy you had a _teeny_ (ok, a big) crush on for five years, yet he never realised, turns up again out of the blue for the first time in twelve years. Oh God, it really _is_ just me left from our year who isn't in their life setting already, isn't it? Mum was right; you _do_ basically get married to whomever you're dating at Hogwarts. There are only a few exceptions, mostly in my family (though when you remember the size of the Weasley clan, that's acceptable) and I'm the only girl who hasn't gotten married to the boy I was dating.

"Scorpius Malfoy," I say his name slowly, as though saying it will tell me that this isn't _really_ Scorpius and he's just a look-a-like.

I can but dream.

His face turns from stunned to break out into a smile as large as the one I saw on his face the day he told me that he was going to America. We were supposed to be friends, at one point during our time at Hogwarts; but as we get further and further from that time, I've been wondering if we really were, or if it's just part of my onetime crush on him.

Alright, so there are maybe _slight_ crushlike feelings within me still, but they're so inconsequential I may as well not even mention them. Should probably forget that I _have_ mentioned them, to be honest, since they're only going to make me…oh look, I can feel my cheeks flaming already.

"Blushing already, this is a record," he comments dryly, in that voice that is part of the reason why I _was_ happy that he left to go to America. Having a crush on someone doesn't mean that you're impervious to their attitude and other things…you just suppress it a bit.

"Whatever, Malfoy," I roll my eyes and find myself slipping into childish mode, like we're both eighteen again. Not seeing him for twelve years – almost double the time we spent together in the same castle – has sort of shocked me back to that girl who I used to be, the ambitious one with plans more focused on furthering her career than having a relationship. "So, anyway, how's your life going?" I try and lighten the mood, hoping for there to be enough people in here to blame the heat for my blush…then I realise that we're standing right under the air con vent.

He shrugs and finally lets go of the door, yet neither of us move. It's slightly awkward, seeing him again, and it feels more like we're complete strangers than people who, through a mutual friend, spent the best part of seven years together. In fact, I think it would be easier if it was a complete stranger I was meeting, since we wouldn't have friendship history before he buggered off and never spoke to anyone again.

Well, as far as I know. I can't say that I would have particularly been on his Christmas card mailing list, to be honest.

"Er…not bad," he gives as his answer, his smile fading a little. "Let's just say that…the American journalism isn't anything like I imagined, nor where I want to spend the rest of my life. And then things didn't work out how I expected with this girl, so…" his trail off speaks volumes; he got dumped and decided to run back here to the UK.

"Well that sucks," I try to be amiable – after all, crushing on Scorpius Malfoy was, as part of my thirtieth birthday's resolutions, outlawed as a teenage idiocy – and consoling as he walks with me to a seat with the name _Rose Weasley_ on it. Naturally, Scorpius' seat is right here as well. "You look…good," I continue, deciding I may as well comment on the physique he seems so confident about.

All he does is laugh. "I've got no need for you to try and perk my spirits up about Holly, Rose, so you may as well stop it now."

These words are what make my blush more pronounced and, not for the first time, I curse my being a redhead – and also my tying my hair back, as the curtains can't hide my flaming cheeks. "Fine, let's just get on with this press conference note taking thing that I have to bloody do," I mutter, wondering if there's any point in small talk. Small talk is for when you don't know someone; but it's sort of awkward talking with Scorpius because of our – ok, _my_ side of the – history.

"How's your life been then, Rose?" he breaks the silence that begins to form, his head turned towards me. "I know it's been twelve long years since you last saw my glorious face, but you could at least look a _little_ happier to see me," he, of course, turns it into a joke about just how handsome he is. Unfortunately for me, all this makes me do is blush.

I had _seriously_ better go find someone who can stop this reaction in me, or I may scream.

"Uh…well…basically all I've done is work, get set up on dates and realise that every member of my family besides Uncle Charlie is happily married and that I'm the sore thumb in photos." I have absolutely _no_ idea where this comes from, basically spilling every fact about my personal life in one go, and the look on his face suggests that neither does he.

"Rather worryingly, I have the same issue," he shrugs, as though it's not particularly big that we're both being set up on dates by our families, then sets that grin on me again. It is _so_ confusing to be around him again, especially since a) I never expected to see him here and b) it's only been about five minutes since we met again.

Seriously, if I hadn't ran a mental health check on him in seventh year, I'd worry he's bipolar, since he can change his mood from being all sulky and mysterious, to wanting to initiate conversations with me, in about three seconds flat.

"I guess having a career is less important than getting hitched and having kids," I reply rather eagerly even with who I'm talking to, mainly because I've finally found someone else in the same boat as me. "And like today! I was supposed to be doing normal work, but _no_, I had to come to this stupid press conference to learn how to behave like a complete idiot in interviewing people!" I realise _after_ I speak that I am way too loud, loud enough for other journalists in the room to be turning to flash me evil looks.

"Too loud," Scorpius singsongs under his breath, as though I haven't noticed this for myself.

And all this does is make _me_ turn slightly bitchy. So maybe it's not _just_ Scorpius who can change his mood in two seconds; maybe I've still hung onto that trait from childhood as well.

"I'm well aware of that, Scorpius; do you have any other pointless things to be saying to me, or am I allowed to be able to concentrate?" I hiss in response to him, watching as he rolls his eyes.

"Feisty as ever, Rose Weasley; it's good to know that things don't change in over a decade."

"And as slippery as ever, eh, Scorpius Malfoy?" is my response before I turn my head away from him and focus on the front, where there's some apparently famous footballer standing, chatting with the press there.

"Don't you know it," naturally, he's got a response to everything. "But do you have a response to my calling of you feisty?" he continues, startling me enough to make me look back at him. Generally, he's always been the comebacks man, never bothered to continue past the one liner which is normally able to blow any response out of the water.

I hesitate for a second, trying desperately to scramble through my thoughts to come up with something coherent. It has been _far_ too long since I've had to react this quickly in a debate style conversation – since the last time I saw him, in fact – and it's a struggle to think of something witty.

"Feisty is better than slippery, Malfoy," I raise an eyebrow, smiling in a way that I _think_ hides my blush slightly; don't ask me how I do it, I just perfected it sometime in school. "After all, this shows I've got a personality bigger than just being able to be smarmy."

To this, all he does is narrow his eyes.

I can't say that there _could_ be a bigger surprise than seeing Scorpius Malfoy again, especially after all these years, especially as I've got no idea why he's here. Could it be that Phil has hired him now? Could he be another senior editor that I have to argue with to get what I want on the front page?

Oh god. If he is, I may have to go search in another country for a job because there's no way, at eleven o'clock at night, I'll have enough wit left in me to get my way, especially since he seems to run on it. There may be history between us, but there's no chance that I can face putting up with him for the rest of my life as a _work colleague_. Not that it would happen, but I could just about put up with him as a husband. Anything less, I'm out of here.

"Your reaction time needs work to get back to how it was before," he mutters, barely moving his lips as he pretends to be as engrossed in the events at the front as I am.

"Your comebacks need work as well, Scorpius, just to get them to within a mile of where they were before," I reply back, smiling sweetly as I can feel his gaze on me. It's weird to think I've seen him for the first time in years today, and we're already back to how we were before: a complex relationship with no real definition behind it, taking the mick out of one another to the point where I don't recall what's friendly banter and what's deliberate.

If I were Lily or Molly, someone who saw this in people, I would think he is _flirting_ with me. Scorpius Malfoy. Flirting. With _me_, the girl who he never particularly liked nor disliked – at least in my opinion.

"Yeah, well…I've not had the best people to practise on these past few years; this was as sharp as I could get," he continues, but before I can reply, there's a sound from behind us.

"If you two lovebirds do _not_ shut up, I swear I'll get a chair and throw it at your heads so you shut the hell up!" one woman behind us sounds more than slightly psychotic, since she's both- wait, did she say what I _think_ she said?

I turn to look at Scorpius, who looks just as amazed, yet almost proud at the same time, which confuses me even more, before smiling. I begin to realise that this perhaps isn't the brightest of ideas as every single person in the room – including a seemingly harassed looking footballer at the front – turns to look at Scorpius and myself.

"Uh…we better leave," I mutter to Scorpius, getting the vibe from the room that they don't particularly want our muttering anymore either. Oh, and I doubt my comment earlier about them being idiots particularly made them like me, to be honest. Personally, I didn't think we were that loud, yet these Muggle think we were and I'm getting scared that they'll get their chainsaws out.

Seriously, _don't_ watch Muggle films at three in the morning when you're trying to work, as the only thing on is Saw – something that _will_ haunt you for the rest of your life.

"Good idea," he looks as if he's struggling to hold in either a laugh or tears – and something tells me that it's the first one. "After you, Rose; we wouldn't want you hurting yourself now, would we?" his smile is sarcastic as he holds the too heavy door open for me to walk through.

"It is a _heavy_ door, alright, Scorpius?" I snap, returning to normal volume as we walk outside the press room and down that long corridor I came down not even half an hour ago. "There's no need to comment on my lack of strength, is there? It's like me…commenting on your lack of tact, because that's not particularly nice, is it?"

"I am perfectly tactful, thank you very much," he replies politely, walking down the corridor faster, so I'm struggling to keep up. Curse wearing heels when walking with someone so much taller than my petite 5 foot four height!

"Oh yeah?" I raise an eyebrow as we near the exit where I suppose we'll part ways and not see one another for another twelve years, by which time I bet you I'll be a lowly paid journalist who lives alone in the countryside and is close to being off her rocker. "What about when you told Lindsay what Al said about her that time in seventh year? Or when you told Victoire that her baby looked like a monkey when you saw it?" I continue with the things he's done that show his lack of tact that last year I saw him.

"Get some more recent examples, Rose, or I'll have to start bringing up all your flaws from when you were eighteen," he rolls his eyes again as he replies, sounding more like the original Scorpius. God, I can't even keep up with what his personality is. Forget bipolar now; it's more like he's got about fifteen personalities.

"If I happen to bump into you again, I'll have some ready," I reply acerbically as we reach the front desk. The woman sitting there looks amazed to be seeing us so quickly, yet doesn't question it as she takes the cards from us and lets us through the turnstall to let us out of the building.

"I'm _pretty_ sure you're going to see me again soon," he comments as we reach the doors to go outside into Muggle London, where I can hopefully submerge myself in a caffeine filled shop for the next two and a half days before I then return to work.

Oh God. That basically means he is working with me. "And why is that?" I manage to say, looking up at him coolly, all the while thinking, _oh god, please don't be working with me, please, please, __please__._

"Because we're going to work together tomorrow, where I am your new assistant," he surprises me by saying, yet he doesn't pause for me to ask any questions. "And then, Rose, I'm picking you up at eight to take you out on a date to show you just _how_ tactful I am."

"Is that the only reason?" me being me, I automatically pick up on the final part of the sentence, not bothering to think about the rest of it.

"And _that_, Rose Weasley, is exactly why I like you," Scorpius laughs as he turns away. "Of course it's not the only reason. You'll just have to wait until tomorrow night to find out the other reasons. See you tomorrow." And, as abruptly as I first re-met him, Scorpius has gone, leaving me in the vestibule to the building as confused as I was before.

So I've now managed to find myself a new assistant that I was _not_ aware I needed, as well as get a date I didn't know I wanted with someone I didn't know was back in the country..all in the space of forty five minutes.

And, you _have_ to admit: that takes _some_ skill.

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_I don't even know what I wrote in here._

_Still, please do __not__ favourite without reviewing, thank you._

_Join this forum if you like this pairing: .net/forum/RoseScorpius_Fans/95158/ - it's full of scorrose lovers, so you'll fit in just fine!_

_Vicky xx_


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